Page 99 of Nemesis

“Hey, no.” He captures my chin in his hand, turning my face back to his. “None of that. There’s nothing to be sorry about. All we can do is figure this stuff out as we go, right?” His hand never stops rubbing my back in smooth circles, and for some reason, it causes my eyes to water.

I’m selfish.

I need him to function, but I can’t even give him one lost moment of intimacy without flipping out.

“Maybe…” I clear my throat. “Maybe you should be with someone who can give you what you⁠—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he cuts in. “The only thing I need is you. We’ll keep learning together, okay?”

The declaration stills some manic twitch in my mind. His bare chest is warm beneath my palms, and I abuse the access to trace each scar littering the surface. Some are old and rough, inked over with those abstract black vines. Others are still soft pink and tender. Those will likely take years to harden.

“I’ve taken so much from you.” I don’t plan on releasing the words into the world.

“What are you talking about?” He sits up, gathering me into his lap. “You haven’t taken a thing.”

I laugh humorlessly. “I’ve uprooted your entire life. I’m responsible for every new scar healing on your flesh, and every second you spend severed from your family.”

“That’s not true,” he says, gripping my chin between his fingers. I try to look anywhere else, but he holds me still, trapping me in the depths of his addictive gaze. “You’re my family, too, Octavia. You’re my person.”

My jaw loosens.

“Your person?” I ask in a tight, high voice.

He nods.

My person.

I have the sudden urge to package his words and save them for a rainy day, or maybe ship them to a younger version of myself who needed them even more than I do. His declaration could cure me of any ailment. It could flood my lungs with air in the depths of the sea.

I don’t deserve such a gift.

Unfortunately, I’m far too selfish to release it.

I’m not surprised by the loud squabbling coming from the first floor when I come downstairs for my morning coffee. Despite arguing every second they’re together, my cousins gather in the main kitchen each weekend for breakfast, rain or shine. Ben cooks, Nik mediates, Kirill complains, and Maksim stays out of all of it from his perch on a barstool. These days, I find myself looking forward to the routine all week long.

What does surprise me is the way they all clam up when I set foot in the room.

“What’s wrong?” I ask carefully, sliding onto a barstool beside Maksim.

“Nothing—” Ben answers at the same moment Kirill says, “Popov sent another threat.”

“Don’t involve her in the business,” Ben snaps, flinging a glare towards Kirill before turning back to the skillet and flipping his egg.

Nik stiffens, and the muscles of his neck flex below his chain tattoo. I glance over to Maksim, but he’s already on his phone, typing away and ignoring the entire ordeal.

“Why can’t I hear about business?” I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest.

Kirill shrugs, so I look to Ben and Nik, both of whom avoid my gaze like the plague.

“It’s messy stuff,” Ben finally says, grabbing another egg from the carton and cracking it into his pan. “You shouldn’t have to worry about any of it.”

Those soldiers I caught speaking in the hall flash through my mind. It was one thing to realize my father’s men thought of me as nothing but a frivolous woman ready to be auctioned off for a power play, but the idea of my own family thinking of me like that feels so much worse.

“Popov is my grandfather,” I argue back. My hands fold into fists in my lap. “I should be kept in the loop.”

“It’s not like that,” Nik placates, stepping over and setting a steaming cup of coffee on the bar in front of me. It’s hard to stay angry when he remembers to drop in exactly two cubes of sugar and one splash of cream, but I manage it.

“The Siderov Bratva has a code,” Ben finally says, flicking off the burner. “One we live by. And part of that code is keeping our women safe and protected, even when we, ourselves, choose not to be.”